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ounce of control. And then he speaks. And his voice is enough to melt me where I stand.
    “Greta.” His voice is rough, like nails dragging across concrete.
    It incites a shiver that starts somewhere deep inside me, some deep, dark place I’ve never explored. My body responds to his voice like an instrument only he knows how to play. Heat rushes to my core, starting an ache between my legs that pulsates with my racing heartbeat. My nipples harden instantly, straining against the material of my shirt. My mouth fills with saliva, and I swallow without pulling my eyes away from him.
    For just a second, his expression is tortured. And it makes me wonder whether his body is reacting to me the way mine is to him. Everything about this man is hard, beautiful, and scarred. His eyes are dark, an eclipse that has shadowed their usual glow.
    Could it be possible that he wants me, too?
    Then he schools his face, donning an unreadable expression as he averts his eyes and clears his throat. He walks stiffly toward his palette on the floor.
    I watch him only for an instant before I flee for the bathroom.
    Locked inside, I lean against the counter, my chest heaving with every breath. If Grisham had made a move, if he’d taken even a step in my direction, I would have thrown myself in his arms. But that’s obviously not what he wanted. I was like an animal in heat, and he turned away. Embarrassment colors my face as I lean over the sink with trembling limbs.
    What the hell, Greta? You’ve gotta get it together. You’re acting like a complete idiot, and he’s going to think you’re a total psycho. Don’t have any illusions about this guy. He was never yours and that isn’t going to suddenly change now.
    My body has never betrayed me like that before. Never have I lost control of myself around a guy. Grisham does something to me that no one’s ever done before, and that fact scares the shit out of me. I can’t control it.
    But I have to control it.
    I splash some cool water on my face, brush my teeth, and take a deep breath before opening the bathroom door and trekking back across the hall to my room.
    Grisham is lying on top of his blankets, his hands laced behind his bed as he stares up at the ceiling. I steal across the room and climb into bed, pulling my covers up to my chin. Reaching over to the nightstand, I yank on the lamp chain, leaving us in darkness.
    My breaths are just starting to even out when Grisham speaks again.
    “So how long have you been surfing?”
    I shrug before I realize he can’t see me from his position and in the darkness. “I think I started when I was around twelve. We actually lived in Georgia until then. When we moved to Lone Sands, it was because my father was retiring from the army and this was where he’d always wanted to retire. He and my mom were fighting a lot, and I needed an escape. I found it in surfing.”
    He’s quiet for a moment. “My mom and dad always fought a lot, too, but they didn’t give me the relief of a divorce. I don’t think my mom could ever find the strength to leave him. She should have.”
    His voice is bitter on the last sentence, and I find myself wishing I could see his face, read his expression. “Divorce is awful, Grisham.”
    There’s a pause before he answers me. “Some marriages are worse.”
    I mull that over for a bit.
    “We should surf together sometime,” he says.
    Smiling, I agree. “We should.”
    “But only if you can stay on your board. No more visits to urgent care.”
    Giggling, I throw one of my extra pillows at him. I hear his soft grunt as it makes contact. Then I laugh aloud as he tosses it back.
    “Better me falling off my board than you. I wouldn’t be able to save you. I faint at the sight of blood.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Well, mostly my own blood, but yeah. It’s not pretty.”
    His laughter stalls. “I’m pretty sure there’s no moment in existence when you aren’t pretty.”
    Warmth surges through me at his compliment, and